New Ulm weekly review., 1887-08-17
The Trail no Death.

We had been following the broad
trail left by four or five Immigrant
wagons for many weary miles when the
guide suddenly halted. What of a
wagon trail lending across the great
prairie ocean towards sunset? The.
wheels had crushed flower and blossom
with their iron tires the iron-shod feet
had turn up the creeping vines
and sweet grasses the wagons had
groaned and complained as they ascend
ed and descended the sharp swells
That was all. But no!
What Of the people the brave meh
who were daring hunger, thirst, acci-
dent and the Indians thirst for blood
to reach new homes under the shadow
of the Rockies? What of the stout
hearted wives who were clinging to
them through peril-of the children
whose eyes opened wondrously wide at
the immensity to the prairie? We thought
of them with a chill as we halted. Here
the wagons had halted as well. A halt
two hours before sunset, without wood
or water at hand meant-danger. What
dangerp The horses had paved the
ground in a nervous way as they stood
there. The five or six men had as
sembled together on knoll for consul
tation. The grass which their feet had
pressed to earth had not yet recovered
its position. Which way had their gaze
been turned? To the south! What had
they seen! Indians-the dark skinned
race of haters human beings who glory
in having the hearts of tigers. Five
six-seyen men against-how many?
Later on we put the number at fifty.
Fifty, painted, yelling, shrieking war
riors not a drop of pity in any heart
not a feeling of mercy in any bosom.
They had caught sight of the white
topped wagons, and were coming up
from the South-tigers after human
blood.
What did the pioneers say among
themselves? On how many cheeks did
the sunburn of the prairie give place to
the paleness of anxiety and fear? They
gathered together away from the wag-
ons-they talked in low tones-they
sought to hide their fears from those
they loved
And what of the women and chill
dren? Faces turned whittier than the
SHOWS Of the New Year-lips quivered
with emotion Limbs trembled as the
mind recalled stories of blood and cru
city. And in each wagon some one
knelt and prayed to God to extend His
hand of protection.
And now the wagons move on. For
a time it is in close order, with the
brave husbands between danger and
| their loved ones. Then there is an ac-
cident-a death-a something to cause
alarm, and the alarm soon becomes a
panic Heaven help them now! The
horses arc pushed to trot-now to
gallop-now they are running in mad
excitement, urged by the whips of the
drivers and the shouts of the Indians.
| We know how it will end. The night
is coming down now, and we go into
camp. One night more will make no
difference with the skeletons lying on
the grass two or three miles away.
! The wolves have been there each night
! for week.
The sun is an hour high as we reach
the spot. Here is an acre of ground
on which curse may ever rest. Here
the wagons were headed of-here the
husbands and sons made the fight which
men make when the last hope is gone
| and despair comes like a dark cloud.
One-two-fo -four-fve-all the wagons
| are here, but broken and useless. The
bloated and half devourcd bodies of the
horses are here. The bodies Of men,
women and children are-no! You
cannot call a skeleton a body You
cannot say that this bundle of clean
picked bones was man or women.
They are all here. Not soul escaped.
Over the CHASTITY acre is strewn the
garments Of the dead-the contents of
the wagons. In the circle about the
wagons are blood-spots on the grass.
Those pioneers did not die without re-
venge. But when the last one had
fallen, what shouts of victory! What
yells for vengeance! What feast. for
tomahawk and scalping- knife! The
wolves hiding away in the shadows of
yon grove must have heard the shrieks
of affright-the calls for mercy-the
prayers to God. The vultures sailing
overhead must have quickened their
wings as the horrible din Of slaughter
reached their ears.
And we ride on. What use to tramp
over this hell-spot in search Of name?
Of what use to dig grave for these
bones? What to the world away be-
yond the mighty prairie that a few
more Of its millions have died-or how,
or when. But we mutter a curse upon
the human devils, and we utter silent
prayers to God for the victims. Detroit
Free Press.
SuperstitiOns About Funerals.
It is bad luck to whistle or hum the
air that a band plays at a funeral.
If two persons think and express the